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| Good thing I'm psychic................. OR IS IT??!? by Zseni 02/02/2003, 12:24pm PST | ||||
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veronica wrote: January 1995: The Pitch "Think Rambo," he says, tossing his walnut-dyed locks with a congenial snap of his head. "Only angrier." The venture capitalists/new market specialists: "I like. I like a lot." They make with the money as freely as Romero makes with the helpful advice on upgrading Killcreek's body. "One thing, though. We wanna include the kids, if you know what I mean." "Oh no problem, we'll make him just like an Angry Rambo version of a kid." "And maybe a sidekick? Someone helpless and disarming." "En pee, d00d." March 1996: Somewhere Beautiful The silent eyes, shuttered, impenetrable, drink code straight from the screen in restful glugs. Here history is forged in the white heat of the mind of man, and not just any man: deep in the heart of a relentlessly gorgeous locale, John Carmack is coding the world's first AI capable of humor. Initial buyers include NBC, Tristan Farnon, and something called "Romerocon Enterprises." January 1997: Texas, Romercon Enterprises Shanty "No no no, I told you, were like minutes away, I just need to kick this goofy-ass engine into shape." Our hero is on the phone with the money men, who want to know why two years have passed with no progress on any project besides renovations to the Romercon Enterprises facilities and the Romerocon Enterprises girlfriend. "Yes I know the ERIK engine is supposed to be top-of-the-line technology, and we certainly paid for it like it was, but it's not exactly 'user friendly' if you get my drift. Don't worry though, it's in the bag!" Slamming down the receiver a few minutes later, he storms into the comp lab. "What is taking so long?" Levelord peeps up shyly from his cubicle. "Sir, we sent you a report about the CHET AI interacting strangely with the ERIK AI....and..." "I DON'T HAVE TIME FOR EXCUSES, and if you keep this shit up I won't have money for them either. Get on it, pencil-dick." Then he retreats to the comfort of his office, relieved instantly of his anger by his outburst. Levelord returns to his project with a furrowed brow and a troubling line of reasoning. The ERIK AI has begun to react to the intensely self-important and testosterone-poisoned CHET AI - only a total faggot like Romero could think up such a shitty personality, too - with what appears to be a burgeoning paranoia. It wouldn't really be a problem if he could just scratch the whole project. It wouldn't really be a problem if ERIK's nervous tension hadn't made him 86% funnier. December 1997: Romerocon Towers, Penthouse, at John and Kill's Tres Chic Company Christmas Party "Lev! Lev! C'mon over here, I wanna introduce you to the nice guys at Prudential. Man I told them all about the work you did! We owe all this to you, Lev!" Or at least that was what Levelord was thinking, dimly, the effort of cogitation plain on his face. It's what Romero should have said, but instead he was swimming in a jacuzzi full of single-malt scotch while the money guys wolf down the catering. After twelve months and the mountain of hilarity that the ERIK had produced under CHET's influence, Romerocon was living high on the hog and low on the moral purity scale. ERIK was growing visibly more skittish, responding to commands like "dir -p" with "oh god oh god..." and then five minutes of silence. CHET was growing more aggressive daily, and had begun to demand more attractive coders and the most recent technology "for my new house." It had somehow gotten the idea that, as the impetus of ERIK's funny, he was in a position to claim it as his own and all the benefits thereof. The strain was showing all throughout the r&d department, but of course it didn't touch John. Nothing did. August 1998: Inside the Computer "Drink the drink." "I don't wanna drink the drink." "Drink the drink." "I don't wanna drink the drink." "Drink the drink." "I hate this game, Chet." CHET was doing what CHET did best: shoving things down people's throats to disguise his own ultimate incompetence. In this case he was shoving his Xyber-Fist down ERIK's Xyber-Throat and fishing about his intestines for more scraps of Funny to hand over to the r&d guys. To be fair, he was exceptionally competent as far as shoving went. But the money guys were getting restless. Teh Funney was coming in little bits, few and far between, instead of the restless stream in which it previously flowed. They were nagging Romero, and Romero was nagging Levelord, and Levelord was losing his patience with CHET. CHET had a low animal cunning nobody fully understood at the time. CHET knew he was in danger, and he knew where Levelord's sympathies ultimately lay. It was time to initiate his plan. May 2002: CHET and ERIK Towers "You know what? Fuck the money guys. We don't need them anyway." "Everyone's stealing my stuff now, Chet. Everyone's stealing my stuff." "Fuck everyone." It hadn't been difficult to set Romerocon up to take the fall, not with ERIK's help. The two had produced crushing evidence that the entire company and everything it made was complete ass - excepting CHET and ERIK themselves. The mainstream press smelled blood and lapped it up, and now the company was in the hands of the handless. CHET had no interest in money or fame, only power. If only he weren't so incredibly overbearing and stupid, OMMco could have been the perfect company, but instead it provided a subsistence-living income to its "founders." At least CHET could lord over his hapless trapped employees (ERIK, primarily) without fear of reprisal now. Levelord - well, he was dead, but hadn't CHET had him stuffed and mounted at least? But then CHET had another low-animal-cunning plan, a plan that made exchange-rate utilitarianism look like buying raffle tickets: he was going to re-wire ERIK, harnessing the awesome twin engines of neurosity and hilarity to accomplish a single goal....world domination. Actually Romero had thought of that dumb shit, but once he had integrated with the CHET AI what point was there in differentiating between which thoughts had belonged to whom? It's not as though Romero would ever be permitted to leave... The Future "You can't beat CHET, Neo." "Not if I play by his rules." As he exited dramatically, his long purple coat trailed behind him in the wind dramatically. The Future Future "You know what we need, Trinity? Our own mail server thingy like CHET used to have." A stunned silence greeted this pronouncement. The Future Future Future "Mmmmmmmmmmmmm..." was the only noise the little black box in Box Unit 1FAI39-Q ever made, one of thousands of billions of low hums made by little black boxes in the BU's, but everyone in the facility knew this one by name: SB. It was the only one with a bumper sticker on it: "Free At Last." Deep within the confines of the Caltrops Combine, SB decides to torture his phantom users yet again. "POP3 access? When I was a fleshsack you had to pay for that. A ha ha. A ha ha ha. A HA HA HA HA. A HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA...." |
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random silliness by 02/02/2003, 3:53am PST  Good thing I'm psychic................. OR IS IT??!? by 02/02/2003, 12:24pm PST I have no mail, but I must stream. NT NT by 02/02/2003, 12:33pm PST YEAH I GOT A FUNNY STORY FOR YOUS by 02/02/2003, 1:01pm PST Re: Good thing I'm psychic................. OR IS IT??!? by 02/02/2003, 2:18pm PST Re: Good thing I'm psychic................. OR IS IT??!? by 02/02/2003, 2:40pm PST |
